


Let the Games Begin

by Dieced



Category: Anarchy Reigns, MadWorld (Video Game), Max Anarchy
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21657643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dieced/pseuds/Dieced
Summary: Durga... A bounty hunter. Former mercenary. Disciplined repeatedly for insubordination... Ooh! "Went berserk and killed partner." Nice!
Relationships: Durga/Garuda
Kudos: 6





	Let the Games Begin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VHKAneweer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=VHKAneweer).



> Dedicated to Zinny (VHKAneweer on Twitter).  
> Born from a conversation about how it doesn't make sense that Durga killed his partner Garuda, only to then go to the trouble of saving Garuda's life. Unless there was more to the story than what the BPS's record described.

Durga loved being a cyborg.

When he had been injured during his latest contract, he had feared his life was over. His entire right leg and a good portion of his body had been ripped away by the rogue group he and Garuda had been contracted to kill. Lying bleeding in the ruined streets with Garuda trying to stem the flow of blood, he had been sure he was a goner. And even if he survived, what kind of life would be left for him? He'd seen so many worthless nobodies with cybernetic bodies; strong, but slow and clunky, and prone to malfunctions. He didn't want that. He didn't want to live the rest of his life caged by artificial limitations.

He should have known better.

Those nobodies with worthless bodies were only that way because they lacked the proper funds. And he and Garuda were loaded from their mercenary work. When Garuda took him to a black market cybernetics hospital, it wasn't the same kind of place the average lowly scum used. It was high-class and sophisticated. Still highly illegal in all their operations, of course, but the best that their ill-gotten money could buy.

He should have known better. Should have trusted that Garuda would take care of him properly. They were partners, after all, and they had each others' backs. Garuda wouldn't condemn him to a mockery of his former self.

This new self, though, was beyond what he could have dreamed. His new prosthetic leg was powerful and dangerous. It was clawed, reflecting his own ferocity, and it allowed him to move in ways he'd never dreamed. He could leap and pounce, and chase down his targets with ease, ripping them apart with his metal claws in a way that was so satisfying. And on the rare occasions he didn't feel like chasing them down, his leg's built-in revolver cannon let him hunt his prey from a distance.

Like he was doing now.

As far as he and Garuda were concerned, that fateful contract hadn't been fulfilled, and they still had a rogue group to hunt down. It was a matter of professional integrity and personal pride. After all, Durga owed them for what they had done to him. He wanted to 'thank' them personally for his new upgrades with an up-close demonstration.

They had tracked the group to an abandoned warehouse and ambushed them, relying on taking them out before their targets even knew what hit them. Durga had charged in, claws ready to rip and destroy, while Garuda hung back and provided covering fire. It was a textbook assault, one they had done dozens of times before.

Which was why when things started going wrong, Durga didn't even notice until too late.

Garuda was shouting his name, but he paid it no mind. Garuda was often shouting at him, usually over nothing. And besides, even if it was over something, Durga could count on Garuda to have his back. Garuda was smart and calculated, and damn near invincible.

Whatever it was could wait, because Durga was having too much _fun._ The way his prey panicked and screamed, trying in vain to avoid his kicks and swipes as he tore through him, was sending him into a frenzy. The rush of battle was making him high and he loved it, craved more of this feeling, this _intensity_. Their bullets flew harmlessly by him, the shooters too panicked to aim properly. He felt powerful, almost god-like.

In his craze, Durga forgot about Garuda.

Garuda, who had hung back to cover his friend, picking off any stragglers with ease. Who had watched Durga grow more and more reckless in his actions, leaving himself vulnerable. Who had seen one of the thugs rush over to a mounted turret gun and take aim at Durga, unaware of the danger he was in.

Garuda had shouted for Durga, but knew his warnings were falling on deaf ears. He had to get Durga out of harm's way, and knew there was only one option left.

Gritting his teeth, Garuda leapt out from his cover and charged forwards, intent on grabbing Durga and rushing them both out of the line of fire.

Durga heard footsteps run up behind him and attacked on instinct, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick that severed his prey's head clean off.

Only it hadn't been his prey. It had been Garuda.

The next seconds happened in slow motion for Durga. There was a sudden silence as he watched Garuda's head and body fall to the ground. In that silence he heard the sound of a turret coming to life, and his instinct ( _his traitorous instinct_ ) compelled him to dive behind some nearby rubble.

Pinned down as he was, he could only stare at Garuda's lifeless body and think. His thoughts came to him in a nonsensical rush. Why was Garuda there? Why had he come close? Why would he do something so stupid? Durga's thoughts filled with hate for his partner for getting himself killed.

Then a new, much clearer thought came to Durga. The turret. Garuda's shouting. Garuda had been warning him. Garuda had been trying to protect him. Garuda hadn't gotten himself killed; Durga had killed him.

That last thought stuck in his mind like a stain. A permanent, inescapable blackness that overcame his entire being. Durga had killed him. He had killed Garuda.

Lying on the cold concrete floor, pinned down by gunfire, Durga felt his life come to an end a second time. And he wailed, broken and defeated. He screamed loud and uncaring, mad in his grief, because his partner for life was dead and there was nothing left he could do but scream.

When Durga ran out of breath, an oppressive silence overcame his surroundings. That didn't make sense, because where was the gunfire?

He lifted his head out of cover, uncaring if he was shot for it, but there was no-one to shoot at him. The warehouse was empty. The mounted turret was still smoking, but unmanned. It seemed his remaining targets had taken the opportunity to flee.

Well that simply wouldn't do.

Durga's thoughts filled with hate again, but it was cold this time. Right now, he needed someone to hate. He needed someone to die. This mission had cost him everything, and even if it was his own fault, he'd be damned if he let them get away.

He'd kill them all. For Garuda.

The rogues never made it far. They had stopped a few blocks away to regroup, and Durga didn't give them the chance to run again. Like a tiger in the night, he attacked with ruthless efficiency. No fun, no playing around, only the intent to kill. They never stood a chance.

When it was all over, Durga returned to the warehouse, dripping with blood and empty. He had won the fight, but the loss inside him was overwhelming.

He returned to Garuda's side and dropped to his knees. He still hated, but now that there was no-one left for him to direct his hate onto, the only one left for him to hate was himself.

Carefully, he lifted Garuda's head into his arms and cradled it.

How he wished he could hear Garuda's voice again. Admonishing him, shouting at him, telling him how stupid he'd been and that Garuda would never forgive him,  _anything_ . So long as Garuda was the one saying it.

But Garuda's head was silent, and Durga had nothing left. He laid down on the floor, curled into a ball around Garuda's head, and cried.

He didn't know how long he cried, empty and defeated. He was no longer aware of the passage of time. So when a thought forced itself slowly into his mind, he was almost startled by the intrusion.

Garuda had never abandoned him, so why was he abandoning Garuda?

This couldn't be it. There had to be something. Durga sat bolt upright, clutching at his own hair hard enough to tear it out. There had to be something he could do. Anything.

And then it hit him.

The cybernetics hospital. The one Garuda had taken him to, to be saved. They could perform impossible miracles there, so why not also bringing the dead back to life?

Durga was running before he was even aware of what he was doing. With Garuda's head still clutched gently in his arms, he ran. He ran until his lungs burned and his organic leg felt like it was going to fall off, and he kept running. This could be time-sensitive, and he'd already wasted so much with his breakdown. He couldn't stop, not now. Not when Garuda was depending on him.

Reaching the doors of the black market hospital, Durga kicked them open and rushed inside. Several people shouted at him, but he paid them no mind. He made a beeline for the closest doctor he could see and thrust Garuda's head into the man's arms.

“Fix him,” was all Durga was able to gasp out before his mad sprint took its toll and he fell unconscious.

* * *

When Durga awoke he was incredibly sore. His muscles ached from his run to the hospital, and he had been gracelessly dumped across a plastic seat in a waiting area; the awkward position had not done him any favours.

A receptionist caught his attention when she noticed he was awake and instructed him to wait while she called for someone. Durga didn't want to wait, but he didn't know where he was or, more importantly, where Garuda's remains were, so waiting was his only option. He handled his impatience with his usual tact, which meant standing up and pacing the room while the receptionist shot him a dirty look.

The doctor who finally came out to meet with him was the same one he had given Garuda's head to before. The doctor started his explanation by saying how it was lucky Durga was a former patient, because the staff knew he had the available funds to cover what he was asking for. This was a black market hospital, after all, and they didn't take insurance. And Durga immediately passing out hadn't helped matters. But they knew he had money, so they hadn't waited for him to wake up and had gotten right to work. Which was fortunate, because as the doctor explained, if they had waited, it would have been too late by now.

As it was, the operation to save Garuda had barely been a success. His flesh had started to decompose, so transplanting his brain into a new body hadn't been an option. The only choice they had left was a highly illegal procedure that involved transferring Garuda's memories onto a memory chip, then installing that chip into a robotic body. He wouldn't even be classified as a cyborg due to the lack of any organic matter, but was now an android by definition.

The doctor went on to explain that the procedure wasn't without its risks. Garuda could suffer brain damage or memory loss; he might not be the same when he woke up as he was before. This revelation hit Durga like a ton of bricks. He hadn't even considered the possibilities of what kind of existence he was condemning his partner to. Would this new Garuda even still  _be_ his partner?

He expressed his concerns to the doctor, who shrugged and told Durga to find out for himself. Garuda, apparently, was already awake, and had been asking for him.

Well, 'asking' perhaps wasn't the right word, the doctor explained as he led the way. Garuda could no longer speak. Due to the time factor, they had been limited by the supply of memory chips they had in stock. They had settled for one that would be compatible with a Gargoyle-type robot. Gargoyles were a fine model, the doctor assured him. Strong, mobile, and able to be heavily modified. If they weren't satisfied with his current build, Garuda could be easily modified and upgraded to their liking. For a price, of course. But some functions were simply out of the question due to hardware limitations of the memory chip, and speech was one of those. But Garuda could still hold a pen, and had been asking for Durga since he was brought online.

Soon enough they reached the room where Garuda was, and Durga rushed blindly in, desperate to see what had become of his partner.

What waited for him brought him to a screeching halt.

This...  _thing_ in the room wasn't his partner. It was a monster; a giant, mechanical monster. It was blue and towered above him, even sat down on a metal table as it was. Its face was barely a face, just some blank, expressionless cone of metal with two red eyes above it. When it turned to stare at him, there was no expression to read. No life in those eyes.

Durga stood like a deer in the headlights, unable to look away. But then something changed in the android's mannerisms, a sudden jolt that betrayed a living mind. And Durga finally saw that it was not a thing, but Garuda. His partner. There in the way he moved his head was the familiar tilt Garuda always used when he was deep in thought. And there in the way he reached for Durga was that confident self-assured way Garuda did everything. And there in his eyes was, surely, understanding of what Durga had done and hatred for it. So when Garuda reached out for him, Durga put up no resistance. He deserved whatever came. Deserved to die by Garuda's hands for what he had done to him.

He fell weakly forward as Garuda pulled him in, expecting to be killed, waiting for the embrace to turn bone-crushingly tight. But it never did. Garuda simply held him gently against his chest, and when Durga realized that he wasn't going to die, something inside him broke.

He deserved to die. He needed Garuda to hate him. It would prove that Garuda was still alive, still himself. This kindness was foreign and unnatural. He wanted to be hit, punched,  _anything_ so he could feel like Garuda was still himself in there. He didn't want this.

Unwillingly, Durga began to cry again. Silently, tears began to run down his face. He made no move to wipe them away; he didn't move at all.

The irony of his position hit him suddenly. Here he was, being cradled by Garuda while he broke down, when only a short time prior he had been cradling Garuda's broken remains. He almost laughed, but it came out instead as a choking sob, and Garuda held him tighter.

Durga had nothing left to give, so he turned his face into Garuda's chest and sobbed weakly. And at some point, the sobbing changed into words. Over and over again, he repeated a single phrase.

“I'm sorry.”

He didn't know if Garuda would remember what he was apologizing for, but it didn't matter. He had to say it.

Then Garuda pushed him back to arm's length and released him, and Durga stared up at his partner blankly, at a loss. He kept searching those electric eyes, waiting for him to say something that he knew would never come.

A tap on his shoulder drew his eyes down, and his gaze followed Garuda's hands as they came together and started gesturing. Durga at first didn't understand, too overcome to comprehend what was happening. But then something in his mind clicked, and he remembered. He and Garuda had both learned sign language years back as a way to communicate silently on the battlefield. And Garuda was signing to him now. Three simple words.

“I forgive you.”


End file.
